


Demons Get Scared, Too

by SnakesandTea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has an Accident, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnakesandTea/pseuds/SnakesandTea
Summary: Post non-apocalypse, Crowley started spending considerably more time with Aziraphale. He’s been having nightmares; but this is the worst one yet.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89





	Demons Get Scared, Too

The demon been staying over at Aziraphale’s more often than he’d ever admit. So much so, that they’d fallen into a routine. As usual, Crowley slipped into the bookshop just before close and headed into the back room to put the tea on. Aziraphale smiled as he passed, finishing ‘inventory,’ as the angel called it. Crowley had his suspicions that he just wanted to spend more time cradling his favorites – and that was just fine with him. 

Aziraphale had the uncanny ability to pop in right as the tea finished brewing. He served Crowley first before pouring a cup for himself and joining the demon at the table.

Crowley cradled his mug tightly in his hands, enjoying the warmth. It occurred to him that he couldn’t recall the last night he’d slept in his own bed; not that he needed to sleep, but it was a nice feeling lying beside Aziraphale. The demon was curious if the time they’d been spending together was closer to months or years. Usually, Crowley hadn’t much use for time-keeping and figured it would be easier to ask the angel who did, in fact, keep to some semblance of a schedule “Angel, how long has it been?”

The angel sipped his drink, steam fogging the glasses how forgot he was still wearing. “How long has it been since what, dear?” He asked, setting the spectacles aside.

“Since the apocalypse was averted.”

Aziraphale saw through his demon’s weak attempt to hide his true question: Crowley wanted to know just how long they’d been sharing his flat—of course, he’d argue that he still had his own place with those poor, shuddering plants. Beaming at Crowley, he said, “Three weeks and four days.” Aziraphale loved having Crowley staying with him. He appreciated how hard the demon worked to learn to make tea properly, and absolutely adored how snuggly he was at night. Few things made him smile as much as the little noises Crowley made in his sleep, or the way his forked-tongue tasted the air before nuzzling into Aziraphale’s side each morning.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise. He’d hypothesized longer given how comfortable he’d become with their daily practices. He attributed some of his rapid adjustment to his relief that Aziraphale had survived the fire – and had offered his flat when Crowley seemed nervous to return to his own. Considering 6,000 years of history, he could safely say he knew Aziraphale well. Plus, in the eyes of Heaven and Hell, they were their own side now. He finally smiled back at his angel and took the smallest sip of tea. The taste had started to grow on him and had the added benefit of keeping him warm.

Aziraphale eventually announced it was time for bed and Crowley dutifully followed him upstairs. Crawling beneath the covers, he allowed himself a small smile as he watched the demon attempt to scare his small succulent on the dresser. “Come to bed, darling.”

Crowley sneered at the plant for good measure before cuddling up against his angel. He rested his head on his chest, listening to the familiar heartbeat. Crowley closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

The angel felt waves of love radiating from the demon. He put his arms around him, protectively pulling him closer. Aziraphale was rewarded by a soft sound, almost resembling a purr. “I love you, too,” he whispered before drifting to sleep.

Hours passed as angel and demon dreamed in each other’s arms. The silence was broken by Crowley’s harsh, mumbled whisper, “Aziraphale?”

“Mmm?” He sleepily answered, not opening his eyes.

Inches from his ear Crowley shouted, “Aziraphale?”

The angel was awake now. He abruptly sat up, an angry ‘what?!’ died in his throat as he looked down at his bedmate. “Crowley?” The demon was fast asleep, a scowl on his face.

“Bastards!” Balling the sheets into fists, he snarled into the pillow. A sob wracked his body as his muscles twitched violently. “Best friend,” he breathed, “my best friend.”

Aziraphale scooched against him and gently shook his demon’s shoulder. “Crowley, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

“NO!” The demon screamed.

The sheer pain in his voice sliced through the angel’s heart. “Darling, please,” he begged. Warm wetness bloomed against his leg. Oh dear. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said loudly enough to get a small whimper out of him. “You’re all right,” he said softly, stroking the demon’s back as he continued to wet the bed.

Crowley woke panicking, his heart pounded violently against his ribcage, reverberating like a drum in his ears. His eyes locked with Aziraphale’s in the moonlight and, for a brief moment, he relaxed – his angel was safe. It was short-lived, however, as he felt the heat flooding from his crotch and pooling around his hip. An involuntary, pained noise emanated from his throat.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Aziraphale murmured, rubbing his back.

His muscles, still frozen with shock, prevented him from rolling over. He was forced to face his angel as he listened to the hiss of urine streaming through his boxers and soaking Aziraphale’s sheets, likely ruining the mattress. The angel shifted and Crowley realized, given the closeness, he had to be pissing _on _him. He redoubled his efforts to staunch the flow, but his torrent was relentless. Seconds felt like hours – as though Crowley was eternally suspended in a hell of involuntarily voiding his bladder in Aziraphale’s bed.

“You’re safe,” Aziraphale whispered. He kept a hand on his back, attempting to comfort him as the demon’s stream drenched his thigh.

He closed his eyes and was immediately met with the nightmarish flames of the bookstore. Terror and fear rushed through him with renewed zeal. He opened his eyes again and forced himself to stare at the ceiling, trapped between two horrors until his flood, at long last, dulled to a trickle. Warm piss had spread halfway up his ribcage and down to his knees. As if to spite him, his muscles finally allowed him to clamp down on the flow before he was completely empty. Another small dribble leaked into his boxers as he buried his head in his pillow, unable to face Aziraphale.

“Dear, are you all right?” He asked cautiously.

His face burned; he couldn’t believe he’d just pissed himself like a child. _On Aziraphale_, no less. Crowley’s skin was crawling, itchy with cooling urine. He realized with a start that he was crying as his shoulders shook with silent, tearless sobs. For once, he was a bit glad snakes didn’t have tear ducts. Unfortunately, Crowley was fairly sure his shuddering body told Aziraphale everything, anyway.

All traces of his accident vanished around him; the angel must have miracled it away. “’M sorry,” he finally managed, his voice thick and muffled. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Aziraphale said softly. “Now take your face out of that pillow.”

He uttered a noise of discontent.

“Crowley,” the angel said sternly. Dropping the edge in his voice, he continued, “Dear boy, it was just an accident. You’re all right, you’re safe.” Aziraphale squeezed his demon’s shoulder lovingly. “Please; for me?”

The light begging note in his angel’s voice got him. He’d do anything for Aziraphale. Crowley sighed and tossed the pillow across the room. He sat up, keeping his eyes locked on the blanket covering his legs.

“Much better!” The angel said encouragingly.

The demon shot him a weak glare before returning his attention to the blanket. Exhaling a shaky breath, he picked at a loose thread. “I’ve been having nightmares since the fire,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

“Your Bentley?”

Crowley shook his head. “Your bookshop.”

Aziraphale was bewildered for a moment before the realization dawned on him like a punch in the gut. “Oh! Oh—oh, did you go back?” He hadn’t bothered to question how the demon knew his shop burned down.

Crowley nodded miserably and allowed himself to be pulled into the angel’s arms.

A cool heaviness took residence in the pit of his stomach. He felt ill. “Oh, my dear, sweet boy,” he said softly, stroking the demon’s hair. “I’m so terribly sorry, Crowley.”

“’S’okay, Angel.” He whimpered as another wave of sobs enveloped him. His intention hadn’t been to upset Aziraphale – he didn’t want to tell him in the first place. Crowley rested his head against the angel’s chest, trying to relax by listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He frowned. “It isn’t.”

Crowley craned his neck and looked up at Aziraphale’s tear-streaked face. He couldn’t bear to see him so upset. Sitting back on his knees so they were eye-level, Crowley brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Angel, I know you wouldn’t’ve intentionally set your shop on fire or disappeared without a trace. You’re not that much of a bastard.”

Aziraphale nodded, silently chastising himself; he should be comforting Crowley, not the other way around. It bothered him how quickly the demon forgave him. Placing a hand on his cheek, he asked, “How were you the one who fell?”

In spite of himself, Crowley laughed. “Hung out with the wrong people, asked too many questions... the usual.” He was rewarded with a smile from Aziraphale. Damn, he’d do most anything to see that angel grin. Nestling back into his place against Aziraphale’s side, Crowley sighed. He pushed away the shame still circling his chest, instead focusing on how safe he felt. Had it been _anyone_ else, he’d’ve incinerated them with hellfire. Crowley nuzzled closer, breathing in his angel’s scent. No, Aziraphale wouldn’t tell a soul. 

Guilt coiled in the angel’s chest. “I will make this right,” he promised, holding his demon a little tighter. Aziraphale swore (and angels _never_ swear – good angels, that is) he’d do everything in his power to ensure Crowley never felt abandoned again.

Crowley feigned sleep; little did his angel know, he’d already made everything perfect – just by being here. And Crowley was going to do his damnedest to show him – eventually.


End file.
